


breath of life

by blackkat



Series: Silly SakuOro AUs [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Past Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 05:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12205152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Twenty years,” Orochimaru says, cupping Sakumo's cheek, even though there's nothing soft in his expression. “Twenty years of looking for a way to bring you back, not just find you again. And all it took was a little boy with a handful of inspiring words.”





	breath of life

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on my Tumblr: A different take on the Sakumo resurrected AU? (does that count as an AU? IDK) anyway, but it wasn't Orochimaru who did it, this time. Maybe he got mysteriously resurrected along with Kakashi by Pein, because his soul was hanging around?

The very first thing Sakumo does when he wakes is reach for his son.

 _I understand why you made the choice you did, and I'm proud of you_.

The words ring in his head, absolution where he never expected it, and he chokes on a breath, a cry. He curls his hand around Kakashi’s elbow where he lies limp, hangs on to his child as cries ring through the rubble. He has Kakashi, Kakashi is alive, _Sakumo_ is alive and even if he can't understand the whys and hows of it he doesn’t _care_.

Kakashi forgave him, praised him, and twenty years of cold, dark loneliness, full of regret, have been washed away beneath a tide a relieved joy.

His eyes burn beneath closed lids, and Sakumo can feel the sun on his face. He tips his head back, a breath shuddering through him, and lets himself believe that everything will be all right.

 

The hospital hasn’t changed much, he thinks wryly, the second time he comes back to consciousness. It’s been upgraded, and the walls have been repainted, but everything else is precisely the same as he remembers, right down to the sharp smell that always makes him want to sneeze.

Sakumo is alone in the room, the curtains drawn tightly. No way to tell what time it is unless he gets out of bed to check, and his limbs feel far too heavy to even consider it. His body is weighted down, but—

His mind is lighter than it’s ever been.

 _I understand why you made the choice you did, and I'm proud of you_.

He smiles, feels it curl his mouth in a way that’s become all but unfamiliar, and tells himself he won't cry again. No more of that, not now, not when what he had never thought could happen actually did.

There are footsteps in the hall outside, brisk but not rushing. Professional, and Sakumo marks them as they approach, listens as they pause before his door. There's a long moment, and then a hand on the knob, a click. The door opens, and a woman in a white coat enters, eyes on the clipboard in her hands. Her hair is dark, pinned up in a complicated knot, and her face is forgettable, but vaguely pretty.

One glance up and brown eyes meet Sakumo's as her brows lift in quiet surprise. She looks him over, then says, “Welcome back to the land of the living, Hatake. Are you feeling all right?”

Sakumo takes a deep breath, smells oleander blossoms and ghostly nightshade with something sharp beneath. He smiles, and it takes less effort than before. “Tired,” is the only complaint he has.

The slant of her mouth softens just a little, not quite sympathy but maybe not entirely divorced from it. “Pein called back all the souls that were close, but some had farther to travel than others. If it helps, the Yondaime isn’t back on his feet yet, either, and he was dead almost a decade less than you.”

Sakumo wonders if anyone else in the world would catch the waver in that steady voice. Likely not; he was dead but hardly departed, and he had more than time enough to watch everyone he loved while he was gone. There's no one else close enough anymore to pick out the tells.

“Jiraiya,” he says, and watches her check the nurse’s notes on the form at the end of the bed. “I thought I felt him lingering as well.”

The pause before she answers is just half a beat too long. “He came back as well, though I have no idea how, given that he died all the way in Ame.”

“He was watching over you,” Sakumo says gently, and doesn’t let the stiffening of narrow shoulders stop his next words. “I know it felt like we left, but…we were always there.”

A slow, careful breath, and she turns away, long earrings swaying. “I think you’re confused,” she says dispassionately. “I’m—”

Sakumo laughs, and it’s rough in his throat but he means it kindly. “Lovely, you should know by now that even you can't fool a Hatake nose.”

For an endless, breathless moment, there's no sound, no movement. Then the ripple of a henge fading slides across the doctor’s body, and Orochimaru sets the clipboard down on the foot of the bed.

“You were supposed to be asleep, mutt,” he says, and the words are harsh but he isn’t looking at Sakumo, which means more than tone ever could. “Trust you to complicate everything.”

The urge to smile fades. Sakumo knows precisely what his death did to this man. Ironic, really, that he and Kakashi reacted so differently, but were also so much the same. Orochimaru threw himself into Root, devoted himself to his research, and Kakashi clung to his training, to the rules of shinobi life. They’d both shattered, in the end, and Sakumo will never forgive himself for being the trigger.

“I'm sorry,” he says, and it’s a worthless apology, but it’s all he can offer.

Behind a fall of raven hair, he can just see the way Orochimaru’s mouth tightens. Not anger, he thinks, though that would make him feel better. But—grief, maybe, and it aches somewhere deep inside of him.

“No one knew,” Orochimaru tells him, perfectly even, but his eyes are on the covered window. “It was a secret even from your son. And when you killed yourself, there was nothing I could do. No way to step in. He grew up thinking I was just another monster.”

Sakumo closes his eyes, chest aching, because there's nothing he can say. He’d worried, once, what people would think of him, taking up with a younger man after the death of his wife. Worried what Kakashi would think of him, how he would react, and Orochimaru had never seemed to care whether it was a secret or not, but—

Clearly he did, and Sakumo was a fool not to see it.

A fool for so many reasons, really.

The touch of cool fingers against his cheek is a surprise, and Sakumo blinks, looking up into the elegant, strong-boned face of the man he left behind. Golden eyes are eerie in the darkness, but there's no rage in them, no hate, even though Orochimaru has every right.

“Twenty years,” Orochimaru says, cupping his cheek, even though there's nothing soft in his expression. “Twenty years of looking for a way to bring you back, not just find you again. And all it took was a little boy with a handful of inspiring words.”

It takes far more effort than it should, but Sakumo reaches up, presses his hand over Orochimaru’s and laces their fingers together. “I think,” he says, faintly wry, “that it was a _little_ more complicated than that, lovely.”

Orochimaru’s mouth tips up, ever so faintly. It’s hardly a smile at all, but—

Well. It’s enough to give Sakumo hope, even so.


End file.
